


Cultured Swines

by Hashilavalamp



Series: We reap what we sow [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1914, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Pre-World War I, and ludwig is a bit too confident, can only go well!, gilbert being caustic as usual, roderich is in a bit of a pickle, seminal tragedy, triple alliance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6945259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hashilavalamp/pseuds/Hashilavalamp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Seminal Tragedy takes its inevitable course, Austria is caught between the choices and meets with his allies at the beginning of July in the hopes of finding the right answer. As far as Germany is concerned, there is little question however: how could the answer be anything other but war?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cultured Swines

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am again, and we're moving forward in history! We're reaching the next century soon, so stay tuned!

7th July, 1914

A gunshot rings out, then another, and another, until the world momentarily drowns in the noise.

Shooting practice, a taste for the days to come.

Roderich recoils like a hammer at the sight of the men on the field, laughing and celebrating with their comrades at each successful shot, clapping each other on the shoulder. Their fingers are stained with the residue of gunpowder, and their eyes gleam bright and alive with fervor.  
The fever has already spread to the military long before a declaration of war has been drafted, their fates not yet determined. Just rumors that have been brewing for weeks, talks of potential paths for them to walk, paths entirely unpredictable ends, and yet they are all already so eager to throw themselves into that dark unknown.  
They are empowered by the rifles in their hands and dreaming the dream of their fathers and grandfathers who don’t remember a war that stretched on for over a year.

“What a surprise to see you here, Roderich!”

Ripped out of his dazed reverie, Roderich whirls around at the sudden call of his name, bedded in a voice much softer than expected – but he knows that misplaced familiarity well, and he feels annoyance and discomfort creep up on him when he has drawn the last line in his mind between the dots.

“I could say the same, Feliciano” he responds calmly when facing the Italian, who greets him with one of his bright smiles and approaches him like an old friend, enthusiastically shaking the offered hand with the two of his. How Roderich had hoped he would not run into him, not when his nerves are already stretched to their limit, but fate has always had a cruel streak when it comes to him. Luck hasn’t smiled on him in a long time.

“Ah! I didn’t really plan a visit, but with the turn of events I thought perhaps my presence could be calming for Ludwig. Always nice to see a friendly face in trying times, right?” Feliciano explains blithely, quickly sticking by Roderich’s side like an excited dog as the other starts to walk towards the training soldiers and jumping whenever a shot sounds as if he’s never seen such practice before. The act of innocence has always put the Austrian off, the hidden daggers that Feliciano carries with him. The friendliness between them is just an act, is it not? Things are never forgetten and forgiven. Feliciano holds grudges like no other.  
And it is disturbing how well he seems today. The uniform sits well, on an adult frame now, and his hair is glossy under the afternoon sun. It’s still so jarring when so long, Roderich had only known this face as one of a child.  
“And what brings you here, Roderich?”

“I am not obligated to disclose that information. You would be of more help if you told me where Ludwig is” Roderich retorts, his eyes scanning the groups of men for the one he is seeking. He can practically feel Feliciano pout at the rebuff, struggling to not sneer too obviously at the immature behavior.

“I don’t really know. We were conversing when a dispute broke out among a group of soldiers. Y’know how he is, of course he went to settle the quarrel, but he hasn’t return to me yet. He probably got wrapped up in the training again, so we’d do best to just stay here and await his return” comes the belated answer when Feliciano accepts that Roderich will neither apologize for his rudeness nor react to the pouting, and Roderich feels his eye twitch at the implication that Feliciano has been around long enough to make such statements.  
The friendship between Ludwig and Feliciano is hardly a secret, but of all the people to have an influence on Germany, Italy is among the last Austria can approve of.   
As sunny the young man may appear and as flourishing his culture, there is always that little glint in his dark eyes that makes it impossible to trust him. Venice was an empire once.

Feliciano begins to chat away about some inane events he’s observed as they linger on the periphery of the training camp, Roderich barely listening. His head swims in the summer heat, skin itching with sweat under the heavy fabrics of his uniform, and that incessant talking, interrupted only by gunshots, grating on his mind.  
Roderich sighs in utmost relief when his eyes fall on a young blond man hurrying towards them, even if that man has his older brother in tow.

Germany quickens his pace when he too takes notice of them, an apologetic smile forming on his lips when he levels with them.  
“I apologize for my tardiness, I lost track of the time while I was with the soldiers” he says earnestly and formally, taking off the cap of his uniform and running a hand over his hair to force the strands of hair that had rebelled against the severe hairstyle back again. The gesture is obviously one of self-consciousness and embarrassment, contrasting curiously with the confident posture. There is even a light pink dusting the cheeks of Ludwig’s face, a face that is beginning to lose the traces of boyhood, the softness fading from the features more and more with each of their meetings.  
A sense of nostalgia takes hold of Roderich when he allows himself to linger on that thought, even if it’s tainted by the resentment of their past and the uncertainty of their future.

“It’s fine, Ludwig. I can hardly blame you for preparing your recruits, though I find it surprising that they take commands so readily from somebody in a navy uniform so far from the sea” he teases drily with a pointed look at the misplaced uniform of the German. The redness of Ludwig’s cheeks intensifies and he lets out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck before a stoic expression reclaims his face.  
“You know Kaiser Wilhelm. The navy is so dear to him that he insisted I wear these at any official appearance and any contact with human soldiers. If I could I would rather blend in like you, Feliciano and brother Prussia with your infantry uniforms, but these are the rules. I am in luck today at least, these men here know me as their nation so they do not question my orders.”

As on cue, Gilbert appears like a predatory animal from behind his brother, wearing a grimace that could almost be constructed as a grin were it not so obviously fake. “Austria finally graces us with his presence!” he sneers, clapping Roderich on the shoulder with just a bit too much force, making him stumble and leaving him with his glasses slightly askew.  
“Brother!” Ludwig calls out in indignation when Roderich shoots the Prussian a glare as he tries to straighten his glasses again. “He’s family, stop treating him like this, will you?”

Gilbert merely shrugs carelessly, greeting Feliciano instead when Ludwig lets out a frustrated sigh.  
“Some of us don’t change their allegiances so easily you know, it is the curse of older nations. I have already given my utmost to be kind to him over these last few decades, but only somebody as young as you would be so foolish and make such outrageous promises” Gilbert mutters angrily when he turns back to them, and Roderich feels his muscles tense when he realizes in which direction the conversation is quickly heading. He casts a glance at Feliciano, who curiously peers back through owl eyes, and then at the two fellow Germans.  
“Now that we are all in one place, shouldn’t he…?” Roderich makes a vague hand gesture towards the Italian and Ludwig promptly frowns at the insinuation.

“He is part of our alliance as well, wouldn’t it only be fair if he stayed?”  
“He may be part of our alliance, but I’d rather we keep this between the three of us, Germany. View it as family business, if you will.”

Feliciano resorts to pouting once more when Ludwig reluctantly sends him away, maybe check up on some of the soldiers, make himself useful while they talk and catch up. Eventually Feliciano gives in and skips off towards the humans, Ludwig staying behind with a somewhat guilty facial expression.

“Now, what is it that you wish to discuss with us?” he asks then, his tone slightly strained, and for another moment Roderich fiddles with his glasses as he tries to get his words in order.

“I wanted to confirm the current state of relations, for the most part” he finally says, choosing his words carefully with an eye on Gilbert, who practically glows with self-satisfaction.  
“Still no decision, then?” he gloats, stepping closer to place a hand on Roderich’s shoulder, and this time Germany does not interfere to call back his insufferable brother.

“Not everyone jumps into war without sufficient thought first. Particularly in such a precarious situation” Roderich defends himself with a pitiful sniff, the heat of embarrassment flooding his neck and his cheeks when Gilbert merely laughs at him and even Ludwig doesn’t look like he’s buying into that. Roderich has arrived in uniform, and they know what that means. Everything the follows now can only be scared rhetoric.  
Rhetoric that Roderich will cling to, so he curls his hands into fists by his sides and meets the skepticism of his family head-on. Gilbert just stares back, his wine-read eyes narrowed, betraying that their owner’s tongue is just as sharp as his knives.

“Naturally, because I am a bloodthirsty demon who lacks the mental capacity for thought! Just an unrefined barbarian, like in the good old days, right?” Gilbert snickers, the sound devoid of real mirth and rather dripping with old hatred and cultivated hurt and it takes Roderich quite some goodwill to not agree out of pure spite.  
“Just admit to your weakness, Austria. It is no shame when Hungary refuses to as much as meet with us.”

“Erszébet has her reservations towards the idea of war for good reason. Despite her temperament she has always had just a crucial tad more foresight than you” Roderich spits and pushes Gilbert away from him, feeling a spark of triumph when Gilbert’s smirk falters at the sound of her name.  
But he quickly recovers. “If you agree with her, then why do you stand with us? Why are you here in uniform?”

Roderich falls silent.

Erszébet had witnessed his departure with nothing but grim silence, no words of goodbye spoken, no lover’s chaste kiss on his cheek before he left. She disapproves of the path he considers, her agreement had to be bought through bargaining, and it tears at his heart to know that they simply don’t have another choice than this.

“He is weak, we all know that already, brother. No need to rub it in” Ludwig chides, and Roderich wonders if the young man realizes that he himself has done just that. Rubbing it in, that is. He can only forgive it because he knows that little Ludwig doesn’t speak these words with malicious intention. Or so he hopes, at least.  
Ludwig frowns slightly and fixes Roderich with a stare. “But it is becoming an issue with increasing urgency. You must make your decision soon or people will no longer believe that this is a reaction to the assassination and the support for Serbia will grow. Each day that passes without action allows Russia and France to prepare for the inevitable war, and I’d rather we strike first.”

Ludwig licks his lips, blinking sweat out of his eye in irritation. He hasn’t practiced these kind of addresses all that often obviously, despite his importance as the forefront of propaganda. After a moment, Ludwig catches himself again though, he stands up straighter and his tone shifts from strictness to something more fretful. “We’ve waited for this, haven’t we? Please, please don’t squander this opportunity. I can easily take on one of them, but if they unite and your indecisiveness delays my actions, it will get tough. I will support you no matter what you may decide for, but I strongly advise you to pick war.”

War war war war, there it is again, the demand for war. Like the buzzing of a mosquito at night that drills itself into your mind and drives any thought of sleep far out of reach.  
As though Roderich didn’t know enough about this himself. As though he didn’t understand the intricacies of politics these days.

“Erszébet says it may as well spiral into a Weltkrieg, young man. Take it seriously, will you!” Roderich scolds hotly, Gilbert’s satisfaction rising like the tide with what he must see as an indirect admission of defeat. The boyish smile disappears from Ludwig’s face at last as he assumes the proper stance of the little Prussian war trophy he is.  
“I am taking this seriously, Roderich. I am fully informed of the situation and the fact that this may mean general war for us. But I also know that war is about resources and skill, and I possess both in spades. Prussia has trained me well for this war. It is you who comes crawling to me for support because you lack the strength you once held; I feel you have lost the right to address me as a child!”

Roderich shivers at the petulance in these words and he gulps. He had hoped, hoped so much that over the past decades his influence could have done anything to change Germany’s nature, but in the ominous light of the dawn of war it shows that Gilbert has truly raised Ludwig in his own image. A man too confident in his skill of killing and dying alike, but mixed with the terrible fallacy of inexperience and immature overestimation.  
Roderich’s gaze travels past his companions, back to the fields and the soliders. The advancing hour promises rest for them soon, and Roderich is sure they are smiling.

When Roderich focus slips back, Gilbert is looking onto his brother with fondness much too soft for a man like him. “You’re an immature brat, that’s why you get to talk like that. But keep in mind that this is your first proper war as a unified nation. Just because you came into this world through iron and blood does not mean you can match the success of those before you! You’ll have to rely on me still” he reprimands almost playfully, laughing freely when Ludwig’s shoulders sag in shame of having spoken so arrogantly and of receiving a scolding in front of another.

Gilbert’s tone turns serious only for a moment, the faintest hint of actual fear in his face when he turns to meet Roderich’s eye. “But our success also hinges on your decision, Austria. Make it quickly if you don’t want to doom all of us. Wait too long and Ivan will manage to get himself together and crush us with Francis’ aid from the west. Vergiss’ das nicht. Du kannst dir keinen Fehler erlauben.”

Roderich’s brow furrows involuntarily at this, and he aimlessly kicks at the ground in a fit of sudden restlessness. It’s humbling in the strangest of ways, this little utterance lacking the formality that usually colored their speech.

Fear makes Gilbert appear so much more human, more like a child of this earth, even with those demon eyes and the nearly white hair. But if Gilbert is human as much as they are, that means for Roderich that the pressure of responsibility on his shoulders grows even heavier.

Is this the pain Atlas endured, with the weight of the heavens on his back? Roderich wonders.

Humans call in the decisions, but he knows his words will count.

“I will keep it in mind” Roderich says carefully, clasping clammy hands behind his back. “But! We may try the ultimatum first. Serbia would never accept it, and I would be left to be seen as the generous seeker of peace, and perhaps then things can be solved so much more smoothly” he eventually says, knowing that this is buying time at most, but it will have to do.

Another gun fires, and the ringing in Roderich’s ears for a moment sounds like Prussia’s glory.  
image

.

.

.

End of October, 1918

 

Roderich’s back aches from the bruises and the hole torn into the flesh and bone by the Italian bullet, but still he drags himself through his battered house. It’s hardly a refugee because it’s crumbling halls offer no sanctuary from news from abroad.

Brass railings are cool under his hands, the sensation ought to be soothing by all accounts but Roderich no longer has it in him to feel the comfort of the familiarity. These halls aren’t home anymore, even if he has seen these paintings and decorations thousands of times before.

How could this lavish palace be a home when the continent is nothing but scarred earth and bloodied men? May looters take this all, nothing will weigh heavier than the missing crown on Roderich’s head and the hand that no longer rests in his own.

He has heard that Ludwig is doing no better at least. There are talks of a revolution, one that will strip him and Gilbert of their beloved royal status after everything just as well. Last Roderich saw him, the boy was already missing some fingers.  
Even Gilbert is so quiet these days, tongue tied with horror, finally sounding as humble as he should be in the face of total devastation.

It doesn’t do much to satisfy Roderich though, he realizes bitterly, because even if they are as defeated as he is, as unsure of their future for they  
at least have each other.

While Roderich sits alone in his house that is too big for one person alone, his face buried in his injured hands, his glasses painfully digging into his skin.


End file.
